Sean struggles weakly to get away from the person holding him, trying to fight off his nausea at the same time when he hears Gene’s low voice before him.
“Let him go, Simon. He’s mine.”
Sean blinks the blood away from his eyes, looking blearily up at Gene. So it is Simon who is holding him, not Gene. “I’m nobody’s—” he croaks, making an effort to get on his feet.
“Keep still, Sean, you’re hurt.” Simon is steadying him.
“Please, get me out of here,” Sean whispers, his eyes screwed shut, blinded by the pain in his shoulder.
“Nobody’s going anywhere.”
Shit. Gene is pointing a gun at them.
“Come on, Gene, enough of this already. You must stop now.” Simon has gone very still behind Sean.
“No. Let him go, or I’ll shoot.”
Sean’s blood turns cold. Gene is holding the gun with both hands,
